Viv

Fell, New York

November 1982

VIV

The night it all ended, Vivian was alone.

She woke from a restless doze fully clothed on her bed. It took her a second to orient herself; she was in her apartment on Greville Street. Her window was a square of darkness; the sun must have set.

She swung her legs off the bed. When had she come home and lain down? She couldn’t remember anymore. She’d left Alma’s office and everything else was a fog of exhaustion. Was that yesterday? The day before?

She was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, now slightly wrinkled. Her sneakers were still on her feet, navy blue and white. The slender watch on her wrist said that it was ten twenty at night. She glanced in the mirror over her dresser and saw that her face was pale, her hair mussed. Her mouth was parched, as if she’d been sleeping for days. She opened her bedroom door and walked out into the apartment.

There was no one here. Jenny had gone away somewhere—to visit her parents, maybe. There had been no one in the apartment for days, not even the small signs of life with another human: empty glasses on the counter, a purse tossed on the sofa, the TV left on. There was only darkness until Viv flipped the light switch, blinking. She walked to the kitchen sink and poured herself a glass of water. She downed it, and then, unable to bear the silence, she turned on the TV.

“. . . now told us that the body found on Melborn Road is positively identified as that of Tracy Waters, a high school senior whose parents reported her missing two days ago. There are no other details at this time, but we will update you at eleven—”

Viv’s knees gave out. She sank to the floor. “Tracy,” she said.

Her letter. Her phone calls. All for nothing.

He’d taken her. He’d killed her. He’d dumped her. And she’d slept the entire time.

Viv’s stomach turned, and for a minute she thought she’d throw up. Spots danced behind her eyes. She knelt on the floor with her hands on her stomach and the blood rushing in her ears, her eyes closed. The TV had gone back to its regular programming, but it was just noise. I failed. I failed.

What had she done wrong? Were the phone calls not good enough? Was it the letter? Should she have included Simon Hess’s name? She’d almost done it, and at the last minute she’d heard Alma saying, I need more. I need physical evidence. It has to be airtight. After everything, after all these weeks, she’d had one wavering second of doubt, so she’d settled for describing him instead. Had it cost Tracy her life?

This was all her fault. All of it.

She stayed on her knees for a stretch of minutes, then got to her feet. She turned the TV off. She walked to the bathroom and washed her face. Then she brushed her hair and sprayed it. She changed her clothes, put on makeup, eye shadow in purple and blue. She made herself look nice.

She put on a navy blue sweater and her nylon jacket. She picked up her purse and her car keys. She knew what the eleven o’clock news would say: There was a killer on the loose. People should lock their doors. Women should look over their shoulders, try not to be alone at night. Parents should look out for their daughters and always know where they are. Women should carry a whistle or a flashlight. Because if you were a woman, the world was a dangerous place.

Viv unzipped her purse and pushed aside the contents. She picked out the hunting knife she’d bought at the hardware store in Plainsview, pulling it out of its thick leather sheath. She looked at the blade, silver and sharp in the light, then slid it back into its place. She put the knife back into her purse.

She’d been carrying it for days now. She only wished she had given it to Tracy Waters instead.

She was alone in the dark, just like she always was. But now it was time to go to work.

---

•   •   •“I wrote a note to Janice about the door to number one-oh-three. There’s something wrong with it. It keeps blowing open in the wind, even when I lock it,” Johnny said.

Viv’s mind was still reeling over Tracy’s murder. She watched Johnny leave, then sat at the desk and pulled out her notebook.

Nov. 29

Door to number 103 has begun to open again. Prank calls. No one here. Tracy Waters is dead.

The ghosts are awake tonight. They’re restless. I think this will be over soon. I’m so sorry, Tracy. I’ve failed.

There was the sound of a motor in the parking lot. It cut out, a door slammed, and Jamie Blaknik walked through the door to the office. He was wearing his usual jeans and faded T-shirt under a sweatshirt and a jean jacket, his hair mussed.

“Hey, Good Girl,” he said. “I need a room.”

Viv blinked at him. He was so real, snapping her out of her fog of a dream. He smelled like cold fall air and cigarette smoke. A lock of hair fell over his forehead. He dug into his back pocket, peeled a few bills out of a folded-up wad, and dropped them on the desk. Then he pulled the guest book toward him, picked up the pen, and wrote his name.

“Quiet night, huh?” he said as he wrote.

“I guess so,” Viv said.

He finished writing, put down the pen, and smiled at her. She felt herself go warm from the shoulders down, all through her chest and her stomach. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt warm. Maybe it was the last time Jamie had smiled at her. She really liked his smile. Maybe some girls wouldn’t look twice at Jamie, but his smile was really, really nice.

“You’re staring at me,” he said, breaking the silence. “Not that I mind.”

She blinked, then leaned back in her chair. She pulled open the desk drawer with the room keys in it. “Sorry,” she mumbled, embarrassed.

“It’s nice,” he said, taking the key from her. “Come knock on my door if you need me, Good Girl. The invitation’s open as always.” He turned and walked out. Her eyes followed him of their own accord, the easy way he moved, the way he looked in his worn jeans. I’m going to die a virgin, she thought.

But that was a weird thought, because she was only twenty, and she wasn’t going to die.

The time was eleven forty-five.

---

•   •   •At twelve fifteen, the silence was broken again. It wasn’t the door to 103 banging in the wind this time; it was actual banging, someone pounding a fist on one of the doors. “Helen!” came a ragged male voice. “Helen!”

Viv grabbed her purse, put her hand on the hunting knife. She edged to the office door, looking out the window. She could only see wet, hard rain coming down, spattering the concrete. The angle didn’t let her see the man who was pounding the door.

She put the purse strap over her shoulder and edged the door open, looking out. There was a man standing on the walkway, banging his fists against the door to 112. “Helen!” he shouted. “If you’re in there, you bitch, open the fucking door!”

Viv put down the purse with the knife in it, because she recognized him. It was Robert White, the man who was cheating with Helen. Except he didn’t look like his usual self right now. Instead of a crisp, handsomely aging businessman, he was bedraggled now, his salt-and-pepper hair mussed and damp in the cold rain. He wore khakis with spattered cuffs and a zip-up nylon jacket. He banged on the door again, shouting and swearing, but when Viv stepped out onto the walkway, he paused and looked at her, his eyes lighting up with recognition.

“Where is she?” he said in a voice that was ragged with shouting. “Is she in there? Tell me the truth.”

Viv shook her head. “She isn’t here.”

“Bullshit,” Robert said. He looked around. “Her car isn’t here, but I’m not fooled. She got dropped off by her husband, didn’t she? That god-awful bitch.”

Viv rubbed her sweating palms on her jeans. She wished that Jamie hadn’t gone to his room, or that he would hear and open his door. “Mr. White, I don’t—”

“So you remember my name.” Robert turned and took a step toward Viv. “I guess you remember everyone who comes here, don’t you? You know all of their secrets. Including mine.”

“That isn’t true,” Viv said.

“Sure it is.” He took another step toward her. “Did you know about it from the beginning? Did Helen tell you? Or did you just guess?” He looked at Viv’s expression and shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t tell you. She’s too smart, too criminal. Why would she tell the little mouse working at the motel about her blackmail scheme?”

Blackmail? Viv pictured Helen, her easy confidence and her short, stylish hair. Marnie saying, Damn, that woman is cold. And, Sounds to me like that bitch is going to get put out on her ass. And for what? A few nights with Mr. White in there?

“I don’t know anything about blackmail,” Viv said. If Helen was setting up Robert to blackmail him, why was her husband having Marnie follow her?

“‘I don’t know anything about blackmail,’” Robert said snidely, mocking her. “That’s a likely story. You’re so innocent, right? You just sit behind your desk and watch a man like me get fucked—and I don’t just mean in bed. You watch Helen and her husband pull a number on me like it’s a TV show. ‘Here’s the scene where she lures him to the motel. And here’s the scene where someone takes pictures of them.’” His expression changed as an idea occurred to him. “Who took the photos? Those fucking photos of me and Helen that were sent to my goddamn office? It was someone at this motel, wasn’t it?” He took another step toward her. “Maybe it was even you.”

Viv shook her head. She’d had it wrong. She’d thought that Helen was the one being investigated, that she would lose her marriage and her easy life. But Helen and her husband must have arranged it. They must have arranged the photos for blackmail. If they were running some kind of con, that was why they’d used an intermediary to hire Marnie—to keep Marnie in the dark.

Viv wasn’t about to give Marnie away. Not to anyone, and certainly not to this enraged man. “I didn’t take the pictures,” she said, her voice coming out surprisingly calm.

He was still coming closer to her. She could only back up so much before she was in the office, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him in the office with her. “Those photos got sent to my office,” Robert said. “My assistant handed me the envelope. For God’s sake, she’s worked for me for a decade. If she’d seen what was inside, my career would be finished—which is what Helen wanted, isn’t it? For my assistant to see the photos and the blackmail letter.”

Viv put her hand on the frame of the office door. She might be able to duck back inside and close the door on him.

“But that wasn’t good enough, was it?” Robert continued. “Not for greedy Helen. No, she had to call my wife and tell her I’m cheating on her. My goddamned wife. I came home to find her in tears, and when I told her it wasn’t true, she didn’t believe me. She’s moved into her sister’s house and taken our kids with her. All because of a fucking phone call.”

He was livid. Viv felt the chill of fear go down her spine. I made that phone call, she thought. It was me. She hoped her thoughts didn’t show on her face. She felt like they were floating in the air, the words easy to read. She pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t speak.

“I’ve got her goddamned money,” Robert said. “She told me to meet her here in room one-twelve. But you say she isn’t here. Why wouldn’t she be here to collect her paycheck? That’s what this whole thing was about, right? Helen has to be here. Unless you’re lying, you little bitch.”

He was fast. She thought she had time to duck, but she didn’t. Robert grabbed her wrist in a hard grip and yanked her forward, pulling her off-balance. He pushed her into the vinyl siding of the motel, shoving her wrist into the middle of her chest and jerking her like a doll. The back of Viv’s head knocked against the wall. She opened her mouth, but Robert already had one hand over her throat, his grip strong and male, willing to do anything.

“Don’t scream,” he said.

Viv gasped as his grip tightened just a little.

Robert’s eyes looked into hers. They were hard with fury. He didn’t look like a normal, rational man. He looked crazy.

“Tell me the truth or I’ll kill you,” he said.

Viv felt her breath saw in her throat. “I don’t know anything.”

He squeezed a little, his fingertips digging into her flesh. “You think I won’t kill you? You think I can’t? There’s no one here, bitch. I can choke the life out of you and leave you in the parking lot.”

She had left her knife in her purse in the office. Six feet away, but it might as well be on planet Mars. She was never making that mistake again. “Please don’t,” she said.

“‘Please don’t,’” he said in that mocking voice of his. “You’re pathetic. The more I look at you, the more I know that you’re covering for her. She was too afraid to meet me in person, wasn’t she? She knew how angry I’d be. She knew I’d hurt her. So she sent you instead. What did she promise you? A cut of the money? She’s a lying bitch. She doesn’t intend to give you a penny. You’re as stupid as I was. It would probably be a mercy to strangle you right now.”

“You’re wrong,” Viv managed. She had to convince him. She had to get out of his grip, get to her knife. If she could get to her knife, this would never happen again. “You have it all wrong. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

There was the hum of a car motor, and headlights appeared on Number Six Road. The approaching car slowed, and Viv realized that even through the rain, she and Robert were clearly visible under one of the motel lights, Robert with one hand on her wrist and the other on her throat, pinning her against the motel siding. Whoever was in the car could see them.

She opened her mouth to shout for help, then realized that the person in the car was Helen.

For a second, their eyes met. Robert squeezed Viv’s throat, and she gasped for breath. His back was to the road, Helen behind him. Viv stared at Helen, silently begging her.

Helen’s face held no expression. She hit the gas and the car sped away, off down Number Six Road again.

“No!” Viv rasped, struggling to get free.

“Shut up,” Robert said. He took his hand from her wrist, keeping the other on her throat. He reached into the breast pocket of his Windbreaker and pulled out an envelope. “Take it,” he snarled. “Take her fucking money. She’s your problem now, her and her husband. Tell her if I ever see her bitch face again, I’ll kill her with my bare hands. You know I can.”

He yanked at the neck of Viv’s sweater, pulling it roughly down. He shoved the envelope down her shirt, the paper cool against her bare skin, the edges and corners scraping her. The only sound was their heavy breathing and the crinkle of the envelope as he pushed it on her.

Then he used his grip on her neck to pull Viv forward. She overbalanced, and he used the momentum to shove her to the ground. She landed hard on her back, her wrist and the back of her head hitting the pavement. This is what it was like for Victoria Lee, she thought as her vision flashed white. Falling on the ground of the jogging path in the rain. She thought of Betty Graham. Betty had a lot of bruises. Like she fought hard. She wondered if cops would see the bruises on her body someday.

Upstairs, one of the motel doors flew open with a bang. Then another.

Robert White bent down, his hands out, and grabbed the front of her jacket. Viv tried to fight him off, but he was strong. She opened her mouth to scream.

“Excuse me.”

White flinched in surprise at the voice. It was male, calm, coming from a few feet away. When White turned his head, Viv pushed her heels into the pavement and scrambled away, scraping her back and her elbows. She turned to see the person who had interrupted them and went very still.

Simon Hess, the traveling salesman, was standing at the edge of the parking lot. His car was parked a few feet behind him, close to the dripping trees. He wore a dark gray overcoat and carried a small suitcase in one hand. His expression was utterly calm, only a small line of consternation between his eyebrows giving anything away.

“Are you assaulting that young lady?” he asked White, as if he were commenting on the weather.

White straightened up. His face was splotched red, his hair messed. Still, he managed to look the other man in the eye and say, “It’s a private matter.”

Hess looked at Viv on the ground, then back at White. His expression was blank. “I think she works here,” he said to Hess as if Viv weren’t there. “I need a room.”

“This is none of your business,” White said.

“Obviously not. It doesn’t change the fact that I need a room. I’d appreciate getting one and getting out of this rain. It’s been a long day, and I’m really quite tired.”

Viv couldn’t take her eyes off him. His smoothly combed hair, his large and capable hand holding the handle of his suitcase. Tracy Waters was dead in an ice-cold ditch, her family in ruins. It’s been a long day, and I’m really quite tired.

White smoothed the front of his jacket, and Viv felt a bolt of panic. Don’t leave me here alone with him, she silently begged the man who had just assaulted her. Please don’t go.

“I’m leaving,” White said. He looked at Viv, wet and cold on the ground. “If I were you, I wouldn’t say a fucking word.” He stepped over her like she was garbage and walked across the parking lot to his car. Viv heard a motor start, saw the stripes of headlights against the motel wall.

A hand came into her line of vision. Simon Hess was offering to help her up.

By instinct she scrambled away from him again, getting her feet under her. She was scraped and bruised, getting wet in the spitting rain. The envelope was still inside her shirt, against her skin. She brushed her hands together, wiping the dirt and gravel off her palms. Hess waited.

“My room?” he said after a minute.

She could scream. She could run to Jamie’s door and pound on it.

“Do you remember me?” Hess asked. He gave her a smile. “I’m a traveling salesman. The one who’s so memorable.”

Don’t show fear. Don’t let on.

“I, um.” Her voice was a rasp. She was almost glad White had attacked her, because she had a reason to look terrified, which she was sure she did. “I remember,” she managed.

“That’s good. I need to stay tonight, possibly tomorrow night as well. I’m waiting for a phone call.” He smiled again. “It’s my usual routine.”

“Okay.” She thought of the knife in her office. If she screamed, he could attack her out here in the dark. She made her feet move toward the office, giving Hess a wide berth. Her calf stung and her ankle ached when she put weight on it, so she limped a little.

Hess followed her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I suppose I didn’t need to intervene,” Hess said. “I know you keep the keys in the drawer. But that didn’t seem right. I should check in properly.” He paused. “You seem to have made him very angry.”

“Yes. I did.” Viv stepped into the office and grabbed her purse. She clutched it to her chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. The gesture made the envelope crinkle under her shirt. One of her shoelaces was wet and untied and made a slapping sound on the cheap carpet.

She rounded the desk and sat in the chair. Hess put his suitcase down.

She pulled open the drawer with a numb hand and picked out a key. Number 212, upstairs. She kept her other hand on her purse, which she held in her lap. Ready to pull the knife out if she needed it.

She slid the key over the desk. Hess looked at her scraped hand as he picked it up. “Perhaps you could use some antiseptic,” he commented. “The skin is broken.”

“Yes,” she said. Her eyes were trained on the desk, but she made herself raise them to his face. She looked him in the eye.

Hess was looking at her closely in the unflattering light of the office. “I know you from somewhere,” he said.

Cold panic tried to crawl up her spine. “You know me from here,” she said. “Like you said, you’ve been here before.”

“Yes, yes.” He nodded. “I have. That’s not it, though. I know you from somewhere else.” He gave her his smile again, which made her skin crawl. “When I think of it, I’ll let you know. I never forget a face. Especially a pretty female one.”

Viv wanted to scream, but she knew what was expected of her. She tried to give him a smile, which was probably ghastly. He didn’t seem to notice. “Thank you. It’s probably from here, though. I’ve never seen you anywhere else before.”

Hess paused, as if he didn’t believe her and wasn’t sure what to say. The lie hung in the air between them. Buy it, Viv thought. At least for now.

Finally he looked down at his key, reading the number. “Two-twelve,” he said. “Home sweet home. Good night.”

“Good night,” she managed to say as he walked away and closed the door behind him.

When he was gone, she sat for a long moment in the silence, trying not to panic. A door slammed upstairs, then another.

“Betty,” Viv said out loud. “He’s here.”

Silence.

She glanced at the guest book and realized Simon Hess hadn’t signed it.

Viv reached into her shirt and pulled out the envelope there. She pried it open. It was stuffed with bills, a thick stack of them. Hundreds of dollars. Maybe thousands.

It didn’t seem real. It seemed like fake money, Monopoly money. No one had money like this. It was bewildering; Helen had gone to great lengths to get this, yet she’d driven off without it. Was she coming back for it? She’d seen Viv with Robert, and she’d seen Viv’s face; she must know Viv knew about the blackmail scheme, at least, if she didn’t have the money.

Viv put the envelope in the key drawer. Maybe Helen would show up, looking for it. Or maybe her husband, whoever he was, would come. She didn’t want the money, and her hands were shaking from the attack. She couldn’t think about it right now. She closed the drawer and pushed the money out of sight.

Cigarette smoke wafted to her nose, pungent and thick. The lights flickered out, then went back on again.

Viv got up from her chair and looked out the office door. In the dark above Number Six Road, the Sun Down sign went dark with a zapping noise, then buzzed on again, shouting its endless message: VACANCY. CABLE TV!

Tracy Waters was dead. Her killer was here. And Betty Graham was very, very unhappy.

Vivian closed the door behind her and hurried for the stairs.

---

•   •   •She started at Mrs. Bailey’s room on the second floor. It was dark, with no sign of life. Viv had to glance at the parking lot to see that the woman’s car was in fact there before she knocked on the door.

“Mrs. Bailey?”

No answer. How many times, now, had she seen Mrs. Bailey come to the Sun Down to drink herself into oblivion? Four times? Five? The routine was always the same: She arrived sober, then made a run to the liquor store. Next came the calls to the front desk with drunken requests—a taxi, some ice, a phone book. Sometimes the calls were abusive; other times Mrs. Bailey was laughing to herself, the TV on in the background. Eventually came the silence as she drank herself out of consciousness.

Viv peered through the window. She couldn’t see any sign of the TV flickering past the sheer drapes. She knocked on the door, again, and then a final time, banging on it loudly. There was still no answer.

At the end of the row, the door to 201 clicked and drifted open, showing a sliver of the empty darkness inside. Then the door of room 202.

Viv ran down the corridor and banged on the door of room 210. Jamie Blaknik’s room. After a minute, he opened it. He had taken his jean jacket off but was still wearing his sweatshirt.

He looked at her face and said, “You okay, Good Girl?”

“Is there anyone in there with you?” she asked him.

“No.”

Viv glanced down the corridor. The door to room 203 clicked open. The lights flickered again.

“What’s going on?” Jamie asked.

The air was heavy with electricity, like the moments before a lightning storm. And suddenly, Viv knew it: This would end tonight. Here, now. After months of waiting and wondering, it would all be over. One way or another.

Now or never, she thought.

She turned back to Jamie. She put a hand on the back of his neck, rose to her toes, and kissed him on the mouth. His lips were warm and as soft as she’d thought they would be. He tasted like Doublemint.

She let him go and pulled back. His eyebrows went up and a smile crooked the corner of his mouth. “Well?” he asked her.

“Will you do something for me?”

“After that? Fuck yes.”

“You need to leave,” she said. “Go and don’t come back tonight.”

“Should I ask why?”

“No.”

The smile left his lips. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Viv bit her lip. She could still taste him. As scared as she was, the pleasure of it would keep her going for a while. “Something bad is going to happen, but I can handle it. It’s best if you’re not here.”

Jamie seemed to think it over. He walked back into the room and picked up his jean jacket. The lights flickered out again.

When they came back on, the door to room 205 was open and Jamie was back in his doorway, shrugging on his jacket. “You know I’d help you if you wanted me to, right? I have some experience kicking ass.”

Viv stepped back as he came out of the room. He locked the door and dropped the key into her hand. He looked down the corridor at the open doors. “Damn,” he said. “I’m not leaving you in this.”

“You have to go. But you can do one favor for me.”

He turned back to her. “Anything. Tell me what it is.”

So she told him.

It was one o’clock a.m.